


Trolls

by Prochytes



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 17:25:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2740829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prochytes/pseuds/Prochytes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The God of Thunder declares war on the Internet. Jane and Darcy try to make sure that no one dies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trolls

**Author's Note:**

> Small spoilers for _Thor: The Dark World_ and _Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D._ to the end of Season One. Written for consci_fan_mo on LJ in 2014, and as a birthday present for arachnekallisti, who made some valuable suggestions.

Going out for a moment to check on the Monday evening risotto is a really embarrassing way to begin an apocalypse.

What made it worse was that Thor had been so contented. Darcy, who had decided that it was time for him to learn about the Internet, had settled him down in front of a YouTube extract from a proposed MOOC to which Jane was contributing. Darcy had left the God of Thunder smiling at the screen, from which his lady fair talked to him earnestly about the birth of stars. 

When Darcy returned from the kitchen, however, the mood in the living-room had been rather different.

“He went below the line, didn’t he?” Jane asked half an hour later, when she was back from her meeting with the University accountants. “You left him alone with the Internet, and he went below the line.”

Darcy nodded dolefully.

“Darcy…”

“I did my best! I told him that people who sling crap around in the comments on videos are morons. Nothing but trolls.”

“That’s the word you used? Trolls?”

“Yes. Um. That probably didn’t help, did it?”

“No, Darcy.” Jane sighed, and reached for the Chablis. “I don’t really think it did.”

***

On Tuesday, Thor formally challenged every single YouTube user who had called into question the appearance, intelligence, and/or professional competence of his beloved to an honour duel. He had chosen a broad open space to make this announcement, because Thor was, after his fashion, a considerate man. When he was planning on punching several people in excess of a hundred feet, he preferred that private residences should be spared the spatter. The fact that he had selected Parliament Square might potentially have been problematic, but the Met were quite understanding, all things considered.

Thor read out a list of those he had challenged in a resounding voice. He reserved special vitriol for haloismywingman43, lookingintotheabyss14, and borntobebadass69. As Darcy remarked, the only thing that had a short handle these days was Mjölnir. When Thor’s challenge (disseminated across the world by obliging camera-crews) went unanswered, he read the list out again. Every five minutes. For twelve hours.

Thor returned to the flat, where Jane wrestled the intricacies of Full Economic Costing, with his thirst for satisfaction yet unslaked. 

***

The biggest mistake in dealing with Thor, Jane was inclined to believe, lay in the assumption that “straightforward” was the same thing as “stupid”.

True enough, Thor tended to solve problems by hitting them. This was because it usually worked. When you have Mjölnir, most things look like a nail. But Thor’s father was Odin, who would as lief chain a foe in riddles as end him with the Spear of Heaven, and his mother was Frigga, who had set spells dancing at her finger-tips a thousand years before Loki ever troubled the Nine Worlds. Their son could be devious, when he felt the need. 

Which was why Jane should probably not have been as surprised as she was when she slumped into a chair in the living-room on Wednesday afternoon to the discovery that Thor had stolen the Internet, and put it in a box on the mantelpiece for safe-keeping.

“How does that even work?” Darcy asked plaintively over the Chablis at the end of the day.

Jane spread her hands. “Beats me. He’s the God of Storms. Maybe he’s borrowed some Asgardian science that puts him in charge of electricity? All I know is that the reason no one in the world has been able to connect to the Internet for the last couple of hours is that the Internet is in that box over there.”

Darcy’s gaze followed Jane’s pointing finger. Somehow, it would all have been a bit less disturbing if the Internet had been imprisoned in an Asgardian casket, its wooden surface maculate with runes. Instead, an M&S treacle tart box which Thor must have fished out of the recycling bin was glowing at Darcy from the mantelpiece. 

“It’s all in there? The whole Internet?”

“Almost all of it. He was actually paying attention when you told him how many things we use it for. He was very careful to leave essential services out. But basically…. Yes.”

Darcy paled, and took a gulp of Chablis. “Let’s just hope that no one works out where it’s gone.”

***

On Thursday, people worked out where the Internet had gone.

Well, some people, anyway. Darcy found the door of Jane’s flat ajar when she came around to visit in the evening. The living-room was occupied by Thor, Jane, the box of Internet, and two hot American spy-babes in leather catsuits. Once upon a time, such an occurrence might have struck Darcy as surprising. She went into the kitchen to see whether Jane (who became more than usually absent-minded when she was grappling with financial spread-sheets) had washed up enough mugs for the assembled throng. 

Mindful of previous errors, she kept the door open. The older spy-babe, who was shorter than Jane, was somehow managing to loom at Thor. It was like looking at a minatory Escher print. The younger one, who seemed relieved to have found an excuse to flee the tension in the living-room, joined Darcy to help with the washing-up. 

“Who sent you, then?” asked Darcy, as she ran the taps. 

“S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“I thought that you guys were terrorists now.”

“There was a memo.”

“I should probably check on Twitter. Except that I can’t, because Twitter’s on the mantelpiece.”

Baby S.H.I.E.L.D. smiled sympathetically and plied a dish-cloth. Through the doorway, Scary S.H.I.E.L.D. continued her staring-match with Thor. He scratched his beard.

“You, I think, are the one of whom the Lady Sif has spoken.”

“The Lady Sif does me honour, if that is so. I am Melinda May. We ask that you restore what you have taken.”

“Midgard tames the lightning, and makes of it a chariot for spite.” Thor pointed Mjölnir at the mantelpiece. “Is not your realm the better for this bauble’s absence?”

“May I tell you a story, Thunder-God?”

“If such is your humour.”

“In the legends of this world, the song is sung of how you die.”

Thor smiled. “Do you seek to threaten me, Melinda May?”

“I would not presume. We both know that I would be far outmatched.”

“Then speak on. Tell me of my demise.”

“You face the great snake Jörmungandr, a serpent so large that it girdles the Earth. You slay the beast. You take nine steps. And then you fall, stricken by its venom.”

“I see. Why do you trouble this bright realm with a darkling tale?”

“What you have taken is a token of Earth’s venom, Thunder-God. Foolish and cruel words are the least part of it. If your thought turns always, and only, to our darkness, that darkness will poison you. We would not have it so.”

“You speak as one whose thoughts have known the serpent’s bite, Melinda May.”

The small woman’s eyes did not flicker. “I do.”

“A pity, indeed, that a warrior named for the time of blossom should ever be constrained to think on blight.” Thor bowed his head. “There is much truth in what you say, Daughter of Spring. I was angered by the insult to a friend, and assumed a prerogative that was not mine to take. As you desire, so it shall be.”

The God of Thunder sighed, and gave Midgard back its Serpent. 

***

“’Net’s back in full swing,” said Darcy, through mouthfuls of toast. 

Jane’s eyes had not lifted from her funding proposal. “Good to know.”

“And, people are commenting, strangely polite.”

“Must be Thor.”

“Could be.” Darcy eyed her friend narrowly over the orange juice. “Some folks are saying that it’s down to the new meme.”

“Which one would that be?” said Jane, in what Darcy felt to be entirely too innocent a tone.

“CEILING HEIMDALL IS WATCHING YOU MASTURBATE. Kinda convenient that someone decided to share with the ’Net the fact that Thor is tight with a guy who can see exactly what you’re doing at the keyboard.”

“Just lucky, I guess.”

“Oh come on, Jane. Spill. How did you make it go viral so quickly?”

Jane smiled. “I may have had some help from Tony Stark. He’s not a great fan of Internet trolls who aren’t him, especially when his YouTube Channel ends up in a box for two days as a result. He thinks that denying the world one instant of his awesome stands all Eternity’s offense.” 

“Good for him. Can I mention that in my status update?”

“Take a guess.”

FINIS


End file.
